


Works in Progress

by i_penna



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_penna/pseuds/i_penna
Summary: This is 5th in series of my LND multi-chapters. Erik and Christine look at the beginning of a new season at Phantasma. Erik has reached a level of peace within himself thanks to the boat incident and since the park is doing so well is considering the pursuit other challenges. Christine and Sorelli have ideas for new programs at the park likely to keep his attention focused on Phantasma after all. Since this is a multi-chapter and I seldom know what the next chapter will contain until I start writing it, so not sure where this story will ultimately take me (us).
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Comte Philippe de Chagny/La Sorelli, Madame Giry/Nadir Khan, Raoul de Chagny/Meg Giry
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Works in Progress

Phantasma is coming alive again. As winter turns to spring, the gloom of the harsh New York weather gives way to the occasional warm breeze and the end of threats of snow and ice. More and more of the public are found walking the boardwalk allowing the shopkeepers to keep their concessions open longer. Many of the performers and workers who travelled south with the Ringling circus or found work with other traveling fairs are returning not just to Phantasma, but to the other parks.

Coney Island reborn warms his soul.

In the years since he opened the gates for the first time, the feeling of joy filling Erik’s heart was never so great as this year. The strange events surrounding the boat Raoul purchased from a newspaper ad shifted something inside of him.

For the first time in memory – and his memory is quite long – he feels no anger. If he is honest – a trait always claimed for himself – his list of grievances is of an infinite length…or so it seems when he still bothers to think about them. This is understandable to anyone who cares to know of his life.

Nadir, the perpetrator of many of them, whether intentional or not. His life as a free man, finally escaped from being a slave to the gypsies that caged him to a traveling musician and – was this ever true – assassin for hire – would end. A new sort of slavery – no cages or rags for clothing or beatings – but bondage nonetheless would become his life. Nadir enticed him to Persia.

It was not that difficult, he had to admit. Their meeting had the feel of inevitability. Karma, if you will. Quite simply, Erik liked him and found him to be warm and companionable – something he sorely lacked and missed. Working for the Shah – why not? Did the daroga, as he was addressed – a sheriff…a man of the law – have any idea the sort of sufferings he would experience or worse – would impose on others?

Nadir would be his friend – ultimately delivering him from the hell he introduced him to.

Then there were their sons. Reza – Nadir’s boy, pure of heart and spirit who loved him unequivocally. The boy slowly dying from birth. The boy who brought happiness to his own dark heart. The boy whose voice he heard somehow when he himself lay dying – having drunk ground glass in an assassination attempt. _“I want you to wake up, Erik. My music man is broken and no one else knows how to mend it.”_ He did not die. In return, in an act of compassion, he ended Reza’s suffering – a good death, some might say.

As repayment, the Persian would re-enter his life in fortuitous time to save the life of his own son – the son he knew nothing about for the first ten years of the boy’s life. A miracle, some might call it. Kismet. One of those events in your life you cannot explain nor desire to question.

Gustave, the child who, along with his mother, healed his broken, no…shattered heart. Christine, his Angel – not just of music, but of everything good about him and the life he now lives – leaving him to wonder if that other life truly existed.

A promise to Nadir never to kill again still fresh on his lips, he buried the hatred and rage deep within him, deciding to live in the world as a normal man now free from the Persian shah. Once again finding himself shunned by the everyday world. Instead of seeking vengeance for how does one seek vengeance against God, since it seemed God cursed him with his face – he buried himself alive beneath the Palais Garnier. The opera house he helped design and build. A solitary life would suit him best – music, books, experiments and inventions would satisfy him. Connections with the human race was not for him.

Even with Phantasma, living high above the ground in the Eyrie, where he stands now looking down at the bustling activity surrounding him – he isolated himself.

Looking back, he wonders how he ever felt this was a life he would enjoy living. Living death, it was – above or below the ground. Funny how the happiness he has come to know in such a short period of time could supersede decades of that other man he hardy recognized now. Even when he happens to see his reflection in a mirror or window pane, the self-disgust has become a grudging acceptance.

He smiles broadly and laughs for the pure joy of it.

The past is truly behind him. The odd reality being was most of the people from that past were surrounding him now – their lives intertwined through that bewitched boat – or so it appeared to be – and a book presuming to tell the story of his life. In the fantastical world he created, he is accepted, perhaps not loved by all, but no longer shunned and scorned.

Erik’s stillness for the past several minutes compels Christine’s attention more strongly than if he was speaking to her. Observing him as he stands at the French doors, a peaceful countenance so unusual for him – the dancing fingers quiet for once – no pent up energy – present even in his quietest moments – radiates from his body. A force of nature is this enigma she knows as husband and lover.

Putting aside the sheets of music she has been perusing back on the top of the piano. One of the tasks they set for themselves today during their time in the Eyrie was to find a piece of music to challenge her. While enjoying singing with the orchestra in the ballroom, she misses the more demanding music Erik writes for her, as well as the other operatic pieces in her repertoire. Limiting her performances in the Phantasma Theater to three shows a week during the season keeps audiences enthralled and Christine engaged.

The Eyrie is their respite from family life. Much as they adore their children – the need to be alone together with their music and one another is equally strong. Neither is entirely comfortable with the normal life they have created for themselves. Each having spent too much time alone – vagabonds and, in some instances, outcasts from every day society.

Then there is the need for passion and simply being with the other part of themselves – to be as one, whole and complete. So much time lost and wasted must be made up – even in small increments – an hour here, an hour there.

How she came to this place puzzles her yet. Another fairground – however much larger it might be from the ones where she visited with Pappa – a fairground, nonetheless – is the happiest she has been since her life with him. Thumbing their noses at society – Erik, much like Pappa in that way. How a deformed child of ten survived at all was nothing short of a miracle. Pappa, on the other hand, chose the nomadic life for the two of them.

At moments like this, when pondering the make-up of her husband, she wonders how she would have fared had Pappa died when she was younger and on the road. The depth of her suffering when he did pass was while in the care of Mamma Valerius. Having a home and a place at the conservatory…and a certain beauty –as she was told – protected her from poverty and a life on the streets.

Even when she revisits the past – those months spent with her Angel of Music truly learning to sing – developing a gift Pappa assured her was hers. A gift never confirmed by her instructors at the Conservatory – assuring her only she would be better served as a mediocre dancer than a mediocre singer. As a dancer, she could exhibit her body and, perhaps, if fortunate might attract a patron. The back line of the chorus would never accomplish that for her.

Erik, as she came to know him, would teach her to be a prima donna – a true star of the stage with a voice no one expected from the shy young Swedish orphan. How they came to love one another… _fear can turn to love,_ as he told her, was true. The words more a prayer than a statement of fact…at the time. The journey to the truth of his words, still finds her wondering how any of them…Raoul could not be left out of the recollection – survived. Now they were, if not friends, actually living side by side in a somewhat normal fashion.

That ridiculous boat cast a spell on all of them – changing the dynamics of all their relationships. She did not know if it was Erik likening Raoul’s obsession with the dragonhead vessel to his own dark feelings, but Raoul no longer seemed to be a concern to him. That awful night finally fading – for all of them.

Another laugh rolls from his belly, prompting Christine to ask…

“What is so funny?” Coming up next to him to peek out the window at whatever scene he finds amusing.

“Life, my dear,” he turns to face her, grabbing her by the waist to swing her around, before placing her soundly back on the ground to plant a boisterous kiss on her surprised face.

“I take it by that response, you were not speaking of something you saw outside,” she laughs, clutching his arms to steady herself and catch her breath.

“In part, my dear wife, but mainly at the thoughts running through my mind as I looked out over our small, but successful kingdom.”

“So you think of yourself as a king?”

“And you, my queen,” he counters. “The Soprano of the Century – there is no voice comparable. There is no amusement park comparable – no matter how much Luna and Steeplechase challenge one another – they cannot compete with our innovations. Dreamland tried and burned for its hubris – thinking papier mache and cheap wood could survive.”

“Shoddy workmanship is always a problem,” she says, walking over to the corner of the large sofa she claims as hers, the blue blanket she knitted folded over the arm awaiting her arrival. Wrapping the afghan around her shoulders, she sits down, knees tucked under her. “Do you remember when you first began teaching me?”

“I shall never forget,” he sits down at the piano and runs some scales over the keys. Singing in a voice so unlike his own, Christine’s mouth drops in amazement.

“That bad?”

“You will note my voice is not bad – not bad at all – just not supported and so very timid.”

“Why on earth did you decide to teach me – with your demand for perfection…”

“But you were perfect – a perfect student. Raw, untrained talent waiting to be molded into something grand and amazing. Do you think I could have taught Carlotta anything?”

The pause in her response was answer enough.

“No. You are correct. The Prima Donna already knew everything. In that belief, she lost all her creativity and became merely a singer of notes – always on pitch, perfect timbre, breathing superb – but no passion, no life. She sacrificed the gift she began with to be a _perfect_ singer.”

“I never considered that – she was so strong and confident,” Christine says. “Terrifying…to put it mildly. I remember singing to myself backstage – an aria from whatever opera was being performed and would see her glower at me.”

“Indeed, you were her rival – even then. She knew. The little mouse of a ballet girl with a special voice,” he says, playing _Think of Me_. 

“You made the scrim fall.”

“I did. You deserved a chance – waiting for those idiot managers would take forever. Your own shyness almost cost you the role of Elissa.”

“Thanks to Madame…Adele for interjecting herself.”

“When we were still companionable.”

“You are still angry with her…after all this time?”

“I have trusted very few people in my life, Christine – Adele was one of them.”

“But?”

“But I am tired of holding grudges – that is one of the reasons I was laughing just now.”

“How so?”

 _“The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn – we’ve passed the point of no return,”_ he sings, his fingers run the keyboard in a glissando before he stands up and walks over to the sofa to join her.

“I hope you plan to explain that a bit more,” she says, covering his knees with the edge of the afghan.

“Most everyone from my past – sordid, angry, misinformed, hellish – whatever adjective you might wish to use, is here at Phantasma and works for me in one way or another. I live in the light, married to the woman I dared not want. I have children, a beautiful home – this park.”

“You have accepted your redemption,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Your compassion – the kiss…kisses.”

“Giving me all the credit are you? I could have kissed you and might still have destroyed all of us.”

“No – never. You broke my mother’s curse – gave lie to her words. You kissed me and you did not die.”

“But you did.”

“In a sense, yes.”

“So you are just now realizing that?” She teases. “And I thought you were a brilliant man.”

“Not always terribly self-aware,” he admits. “My only regret is not bringing you with us – here…that night.”

“You explained why – I knew why, even though I was enraged,” she says, grabbing his lapel to pull him closer to her, pecking him lightly on the lips. “After seventeen years, I believe we need to put that choice to bed or better, bury it.”

“Thank you for saying those words.”

“Again.”

“Yes, again. I know. It just struck me today how lucky I am…blessed even.”

“Do not tell me you plan to join the ministry because I could simply not allow that.” Nuzzling his neck with her nose, she presses tiny kisses along his collar bone.

Chuckling, he says, “No – that would make me a greater fool than I was in Paris. I simply feel the need to do something different. I find myself dissatisfied with my work. I want to write a new opera for you, but the modern music for the shows and your club singing command my time.”

“Gustave has started writing some music…and Margaret as well.”

“Margaret – she is but ten year old.”

“And how old were you?”

“She does sing – her voice is coming along nicely actually…better than Emilie – I am sad to say.”

“Emilie has no drive for singing,” Christine says. “She sees herself as a great actress. Since she is always role-playing, it would not be farfetched for her to be quite famous if she desires. Her beauty is no small thing and there are certainly enough opportunities for her here to develop her craft once she is old enough to understand discipline. Something she sorely lacks.”

“Margaret, though?”

“She makes up songs all the time.”

“I shall have to get with her – see her work.”

“Gloria Fleck has been working with her already.”

“Aha!”

“She asked me to speak with you about spending more time with Margaret.”

“So you have.”

“And yet?”

“I read about the war – I hope it does not come here – but I hear things about what is going on overseas and I feel the desire…the need to create something physical. My fingers itch to design and build something lasting.”

“The Garnier?”

“My name will never be connected with that nor the Shah’s palace in Teheran.”

“Phantasma?”

“Will not be long lasting – the hotel and theater, perhaps, but the park…this land might be better served as housing. I am interested in seeing what the city plans to do with the wreckage of Dreamland.”

“For the staff?”

“Yes, more housing for them – but for people who want to live by the sea – maybe not many houses, but use some of the land that is not developed yet.”

“So an opera and a building to house many people?”

“The opera house would be for you.”

“You _are_ bored. With all this happiness, you are really bored.”

“When you put it that way, I suppose I am,” he laughs. “When I was a tortured monster living below the earth, I was never bored.”

“Are you bored with me as well?” she pouts.

“Never.” With a swift movement, he pulls her onto his lap.

“Rather than a new opera, could you train me to sing Queen of the Night?”

“Mozart?”

“First of all, this has nothing to do with you. I remember hearing it when I was a child and always dreamed of singing it – it actually made me laugh when I first heard it, but then I realized how difficult the staccato was. I think it would be perfect for my contribution to the theater here.”

“I see your point – but you are too young for that role.”

“Erik, I am no longer an ingénue – let us work on it – please – I have not challenged myself in so long. Besides we would not be doing the opera – just the aria.”

“What part does Sorelli have in this?”

“Why are you always so suspicious?”

“You have to ask,” he laughs. “Now what does Sorelli have to do with this?”

“She has choreographed a ballet – to Borodin.”

“Borodin! _Prince Igor._ His only opera…we have that in common. Brilliant man. _The Polovtsian Dances_ , no doubt. His melodies are quite lovely – perhaps someone might write a libretto…”

“Yes.”

“Ah, just a thought,” he waves his hand, brushing the idea aside. “The dance is somewhat reminiscent of Hannibal.”

“Somewhat, but that could easily be changed – lighter, more flowing costumes in softer colors.”

“The bassoon is the primary instrument,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and humming a few bars*. “The first bassoon at the Garnier was terrible.”

“I remember you writing the managers a note about him,” she giggles. “All of our bassoonists are wonderful.”

“Our attempt with Faust did quite well. Perhaps you could sing _Love Never Dies_ to balance the aggressive nature of the Mozart piece…it has been awhile…”

“Oh, you darling man.” Snuggling closer, she kisses him.

“What is this about Margaret?”

“We thought of having a children’s show.”

“You do not need me,” he says, feigning a sulk. “The two of you are taking over. I should be wary of Adele, if I were you.”

“Adele will be fine. We would not have this without you,” she says. “You just said you were looking for new adventures. I see you at your drawing board designing a grand building – for housing – with a view of the sea.”

Slipping his hand under her blouson, he says, “Perhaps rather than sketching a building – a lovely nude?”

“I should prefer being active when unclothed,” she counters, moving closer to him. “In any event, a drawing might be seen by others.”

“And that would disturb you?”

“You did not.” Moving back so she can face him.

“Did not what?”

“Create drawings of me naked.”

“Nude, my dear, naked is such an abrasive word – making the subject of such a drawing seem crass.”

“Erik!” The physical space between them widens.

“As a matter of fact, I do have a small folio.”

“What is your definition of small?” she asks, arms folded across her chest.

Rising, he walks to the library and unlocks a deep drawer to remove what appears to be a book made of two leather covered boards bound with heavy cord. Decidedly heavy, as it lands with a plop onto his desk.

Her eyes wide, she says, “The entire thing…drawings of me nak…nude?”

“Not all of them – not even the majority.”

“What do you plan to do with them?”

“I used to look through these pages those nights when sleep would not come,” he says, opening the book to the first drawing. “Ten years was a long time.” Looking up at her. “Would you care to see?”

Tossing off the afghan, she joins him at the desk. “I fear I might feel embarrassed.”

“Why? You are beautiful,” he says, taking her hand, bringing her around.

“Oh, this is not a nude at all.”

“I told you not all of them had you disrobed.”

“This was from Don Juan Triumphant.” She runs her fingers over the rough art paper, smudging them with the charcoal. “Oh, I am sorry.”

“You did no damage,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“A weak word for what I am feeling.” Tears flood her eyes. “This is amazing.” Turning a few pages, she comes across a sketch of her as a young girl in the outfit she wore when first arriving at the opera house. The dress too small – tight across the bosom…too short revealing her ankles and worn boots.

“You were so sad…and shy. Giry did not even have to pound her stick on the floor for you to jump,” he smiles, running a finger along her chin catching a tear drop.

“I did not know you were also a fine artist,” she says, taking his hand, turning her head to kiss the comforting fingertip. “You were denied so much. Sometimes I hate the world – your mother, that evil Javert…all those who made you suffer.”

“I am thankful I was always able to create – I believe the music and my other dabblings in this and that kept me from becoming completely insane.”

“I must take a day to look through the entire collection.”

“Even the nudes?”

“I shall force myself,” she laughs, wrapping an arm around his waist. “In truth, I prefer our naked bodies be engaged only with one another. In private.”

“Like now?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Precisely.”

“You are my muse, you know? In all things.”

“Then I must do my best to always inspire you.” Closing the cover of the folio, she says, “Now might be a good time.”

“As my lady wishes,” he says, returning the collection to the drawer. “Let me return this to safety. Our son is quite the explorer of this room and I do not believe either of us would like him discovering this.”

The sound of the door opening has them turn their heads in tandem.

“Maman? Papa? Are you here?”

“My point is made.” Turning the key in the lock and pocketing it, Erik exchanges a knowing look with Christine. “Yes, son. We are here.”


	2. Lineage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillippe requests a meeting with Erik and Christine about Raoul's interest in the war (WW1) raging in Europe. The question is raised about Raoul's drinking. Later, when alone, Erik and Christine discuss the issue as well as major changes in their family. A surprise visit from Raoul - concerned about what Phillippe has been saying - interrupts them.

Phillippe rises from his seat in the restaurant – once again choosing the small alcove Christine uses when entertaining guests. That Phillippe has taken over the table rankles her, she feels the hair on the back of her neck rising in a fit of pique. Whatever thoughts running through her mind, excusing the comte dispensing Gustave to rouse her and Erik from their rehearsal time, are lost at this act of arrogance. “Arrogant prig,” she mutters under her breath.

“What?” Erik asks. “Did you say something?”

“No.” Is her curt reply.

Chuckling lightly, he says, “I see, he has taken over your special nook. You are aware others are seated there when you are not present?”

“Not him. This was intentional – Phillippe seldom acts without intent.”

“Smile, darling, you do not want him to know you are the least upset by his actions. That would simply compel him to find other ways to annoy you,” Erik says, using his vocal technique.

“What are you two whispering about?” Gustave asks, turning around to look at his parents, both wearing broad grins.

“Nothing to concern you, son. Just keep walking, we do not wish to call attention to ourselves and disturb anyone’s luncheon.”

“I know you are both annoyed, despite the phony smiles – but he said it was important.”

“We shall discuss that later. For now, go on ahead and greet him,” Christine says, resting her face for a more neutral and believable look.

Gustave shrugs, picking up his pace, moving away from his parents as he crosses the large dining room.

Despite everyone’s efforts to get along – Phillippe and his boorish behavior still annoys her. Leaving him and his patronage behind when she decided to stay with Erik in America was not something affecting her decision by any means – just a bonus to leaving a bad marriage. Raoul, for all his faults has lost his sense of privilege...actually being employed and earning a living bringing his ego in line with those who also work for a living makes his continued presence at least tolerable.

The only positive in Phillippe’s reappearance in her life is the presence of Sorelli – with whom she finds a kindred spirit – a friend. A bond with another woman. Something she never experienced her entire life except for the brief time when she and Meg, as girls, were close at the Garnier. This, before Erik came between them without even being aware of his importance to either of them. The later events at the pier would change the dynamic between them forever. Friendship between the two was simply impossible.

Gustave would be dealt with later – giving him the benefit of the doubt based on his explanation that his uncle…former uncle… insisted Erik and Christine _“must come immediately to discuss a matter of great importance for not only their family, but the de Chagnys and Phantasma.”_

Leave it to Phillippe to use an impressionable boy, still a child in many ways, to have his way. What could be so important? Another boat?

“Thank you for coming,” Phillippe says, as Erik and Christine reach the table. Although dressed impeccably as is usual, the striped silk cravat is slightly askew and his graying mustache rough and not freshly clipped. “Please sit down.”

Gustave is already seated, his eyes moving from his parents to the man he knows as uncle, unsure of their dynamic, slipping down in his chair as if trying to disappear.

Christine and Erik side-eye one another.

Erik clears his throat before issuing a mild, “Thank you,” as he hold the chair for Christine.

For her part, she rolls her eyes. “You realize you are hosting us in our own establishment, do you not?” Taking her seat, nodding her thanks to Erik. “You are no longer in Paris in the de Chagny mansion giving orders to staff.”

“Of course. Of course,” his movements are clumsy as he sits down, taking a long drink of water. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes his brow, damp with beads of perspiration.

Erik motions for the waiter to approach. After the young man takes their orders and leaves, he says, “Well, we are here. What is it you wish to discuss?”

“France…England…the world, possibly,” he says, his refined voice near breaking. “Mostly Raoul.”

“Now what?” Christine sighs, relaxing into her chair.

“We are listening,” Erik says, placing a hand over hers.

“He wants to fight the Germans,” Gustave says before Phillippe can answer. He scans the reaction of the adults, stopping at his mother.

Christine raises her eyebrows at his outburst. “Indeed?” Turning to Phillippe, she continues, “As I recall he did not complete his commission with the Navy years ago…nor did he accept any other commissions during our marriage. Opportunities when he might have been able to fulfill those family responsibilities you find so important.”

“That was because of you, as I recall,” Phillippe responds.

“It was his decision – I never asked him to stay,” she counters. “Had he gone to the North Pole as planned all of our lives might have taken a different turn. Afterward, he found every excuse to be away.”

“This is not getting us anywhere,” Erik says. The gentle pressure placed on her hand grows stronger, to the point where she frowns openly at him.

“I am simply tired of Raoul and his issues,” she says, removing her hand, to pour herself a cup of tea. “We just finished dealing with that god awful boat. Now he wants to go to war.”

“Maybe not, Maman,” Gustave says, “He wants to help build boats…or something to help the French.”

“The country is overrun,” Phillippe says. “As with all these skirmishes, the first land the Germans take over is France. I tried to explain to him this is why we…our sisters and I…left two years ago.”

Christine muffles a laugh. “What does he think he is going to do – single-handedly take the country back?”

“You are French, Erik,” Phillippe says, ignoring her comment. “You understand loyalty to one’s country.”

“Actually, I do not,” Erik says, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “I hold no allegiance to France – this is my home. If anything Christine would have more loyalty to Sweden. None of us was treated particularly well by the French. In any event, we are all citizens of the United States now.”

“What about you?” Christine says. “You ran – took your money and came here.”

“We are aging…Veronique is crippled.”

“You would have been thrown into prison or killed.”

“True – I suppose you would have preferred that end for us.”

Taking a deep breath, Christine closes her eyes, taking a moment. “No. No, that is not what I would have preferred.” This time she reaches for Erik’s hand – stopping the fingering movement. “I simply do not wish to be further involved in the happenings of the de Chagny family.”

“Maman, Raoul just wants to do something to help. It is all he talks about, but he is afraid to ask.”

“He told you this?” Erik asks.

“Not exactly,” Gustave replies. “The talking, yes. He talks a lot…mostly about the war and history. The Franco-Prussian war more than this one. Before that it was the boat. I do not know what to answer him. I think he is just happy someone is there to listen.”

“I am asking for help,” Phillippe says. “He is obsessed. As Gustave says, all he talks about is the Navy and doing his duty.”

“Is he drinking again?” Christine asks. “Alcohol has the tendency to loosen one’s tongue.”

Phillippe lowers his head.

“Gustave?”

The boy bites his lower lip and shrugs. “I dunno.”

Pushing away from the table, she rises, tossing her napkin on the table. “I believe I shall return to the Eyrie – I have no interest in continuing this conversation.”

Erik stands along with her. “Wait for me in the lobby, I shall join you shortly.”

With a nod, she leaves.

“Please do not attempt to involve my family in your family’s issues – particularly using my son to run errands for you,” Erik says. “Gustave, I believe you are supposed to be working with Alfred on the pirate attraction.”

“Yes, Papa – Phillippe came there looking for Raoul…”

“I understand. Go back to work.” Patting the young man on the back. “We shall figure something out.”

Gustave nods and turns to leave.

“Gustave!”

“Yes?”

“Stop at the kitchen to get your meal and something for Alfred. Ask them to send your mother’s and mine to the Eyrie. Phillippe can eat here if he wishes – I will take care of the charges.”

Gustave grins and trots toward the kitchen.

“I am sorry.”

“Are you?” Erik says. “I will not waste another minute on your brother if he is not fulfilling his employment commitment. That is my first priority. As for the war issue – I, too, am concerned. I shall telephone you to set up a meeting – I should like Mr. Khan to be present –he has government connections. This could be bigger than any of us might imagine and taking steps to protect ourselves and our investments would be wise.”

“Thank you,” Phillippe says, rising slightly.

“Next time use the telephone – I believe that was the reason for the invention,” Erik says, turning on his heel, leaving Phillippe to drop back into his chair.

Closing the door of the Eyrie behind him, after setting the alarm, Erik hangs up his overcoat and hat on the coatrack. At the sight of Christine’s cloak and woolen cap in the armoire, he breathes a small sigh. When he did not see her in the lobby, his heart began to race. The encounter with Phillippe more fractious than he anticipated.

The presence of the Chagnys in their lives was not ideal, but her friendship with La Sorelli seemed to make up for at least some of the aggravation. Still, her reaction to Phillippe was surprising and a little disconcerting. Likely part of that had to do with Gustave being brought into yet another one of Raoul’s follies – if he was drinking again, all bets were off. And yet, he senses her aversion to the comte runs deeper than anything they have discussed already and not entirely related to his brother.

He stops for a moment to observe her standing at the long library table, shifting some papers back and forth. Lovely as always. There was never a moment in all the time she was with him when he was not struck by her beauty. Not classical with her turned up nose and full lips – aquamarine eyes wide and guileless. No femme fatale she, seductive and sarcastic in the way of Sorelli or brazenly sexual as Meg when performing then wilting into self-pity when the curtain came down. She was just Christine – real and unassuming – totally honest. For him, life itself. He gave silent thanks to the universe for her presence in his life.

“I needed to walk a bit…by myself,” she says, continuing to look at what he now recognizes as some of his drawings.

“How are you?” he asks, coming up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I do not want him around Gustave if he is drinking – he can go back to France and be damned,” she says, pressing against him, resting her head on his chest. “”Why did they all just not go back to Boston?”

“Then you would not have La Sorelli.”

“She can stay – we shall kidnap her and conceal her in the Penthouse at the hotel,” Christine smiles. “It took a war for him to marry her. Using her. I suppose he loves her as much as it is possible for him. What she sees in that pompous ass is beyond me however.”

“Some might say the same about us.”

“Never. Phillippe never earned the homage he demanded and was given. You are beloved here – as it should be.” The smile becomes a lyrical laugh. Standing apart from him, she begins shifting the papers again.

Still curious about her strong feelings about Phillippe, he is, nevertheless grateful she is moving past any discussion of him – recollections of her past in his household upset her too much. “I see you found my sketch book,” he says. “I must have left it out when I put the folio away.”

“These are recent?”

“Yes, in my desire to prime my creative pump I began dabbling – it has been so long…”

“This one.” Holding up a sketch of a woman, her head tilted to one side, chin raised, eyes closed. One hand pressed against her heart, the other on a slightly rounded belly.

“You, of course. I have known no other women.”

“Emilie or Joshua?”

He smiles. “Neither.”

Looking more carefully, she releases a small breath. “This is dated yesterday.” Turning to look at him, she cocks her head. “Is this how you see me now?”

“How do you see yourself?”

“I cannot remember the last time I stood naked in front of a mirror – if ever. Perhaps when I was younger – still dancing at the Garnier.” The image on the paper fascinates her. “So this is the body you see…when I disrobe?”

“Not always…not in this way for a few years. You are changing. Your body is changing,” he says, taking the drawing and putting it down on the table. Turning her around, he embraces her. “Your temper today suggested my instincts were correct when I took charcoal to paper.”

“You are the most amazing man,” she says, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“How so this time?”

“Capturing the moment I realized I was with child again. Your drawing was like looking in a mirror. I thought I might have miscounted the days – it seems just one night can make a difference. Christmas, do you think?” she asks, fingering his Christmas gift to her – the mother’s ring.

“We have used every means available for three years to prevent a pregnancy – this is meant to be,” he says kissing her forehead. “I cannot keep the fear rising within me, though.” Before she can comment, he adds, “Not for me, for the baby.”

“All our children are loved – for their beauty and for their not so beautiful moments.”

“This is a protected environment, for all of us. It was created to be so – for the Flecks and Gangles and Squelches of the world…and our own Henry and Margaret. It will not be here forever and I worry.”

“I am as concerned about Emilie, who is quite perfect physically – is loved and spoiled…but might not find the outside world as doting as her papa.”

“They have you for their mother to teach all of them how to cope – whatever comes their way. Your life has been anything but ordinary.”

“I guess you could say that,” she chuckles as she picks up the drawing again. “I want to frame this – for our room – here.”

“If you like.”

“I do.”

The kiss she offers to him is interrupted by the doorbell.

“Our luncheon,” Erik says, releasing her to answer the door. “I asked Gustave to have the kitchen send the food here.”

Christine nods. She straightens the papers of the drawing pad, picking up the music they were going over before Gustave interrupted them, carrying the stack with her to the great room.

“Our food,” Erik announces. “It appears Chef has hired new help to make deliveries.”

Christine looks up from the music. “Raoul? What are you doing here?”

“I overheard Gustave tell the waiter to bring your dinner to the Eyrie,” he says. “I offered to make the delivery myself.”

“I suppose I should be angry with Chef, but can understand him not wanting to lose a waiter during midday service.” Erik moves the cart to the small dining table and sets places for himself and Christine. “Come, eat, my dear, before your omelet gets cold.”

“I am sorry to have interrupted,” Raoul says, shuffling from one foot to the other.

“You can leave now – unless you are waiting for a tip,” Erik says.

“I was hoping you had a moment to speak with me.”

Christine sits down at the table and waves a dismissive hand at the men. “Find out what he wants – the sooner you do, the sooner we can be rid of him.”

“I am sorry, Christine.”

“You are always sorry, Raoul. Perhaps you might examine your behavior before you act, so you would not have the need to apologize all the time.”

“I have had enough scolding from Phillippe. I hoped the two of you might hear me out.”

“Sit down,” Erik says. “Are you hungry? There is enough for all of us.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well then. Talk. What do you want?”

“The Germans are likely to take to the sea – to stop trade. I have been reading about it.”

“Yes, that is true. This is something both Nadir and I have been discussing.”

Raoul brightens. “I told Phillippe I wanted to help France and he thought I wanted to return. I only want to support the war effort. During the Prussian war, they circled Paris – the people in the city were trapped – some starved to death for lack of food.”

“That is true.”

“We cannot do anything about something like that happening again – on the land, but what about preventing them from blocking travel by sea?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I do not know – that is why I came to you. You are the artist, the inventor. I know I do not have your gifts.” Looking to Christine. “I really am sorry for intruding. When I saw Phillippe leaving the workshop with Gustave I was afraid he was going to speak with you and…well…speak unkindly about my concerns.”

“He is very upset.”

“Afraid of losing all of his money, if he has not already. His business, as he calls it, feeds off the needs of immigrants. If that stops, he has no new income.”

“It makes sense that travel will be interrupted,” Erik says. “I am surprised there have been no incidents so far.”

“Maybe we can talk further, when I am not interfering…a meeting with you and Nadir, perhaps?”

“I suggested as much with your brother,” Erik says. “I see no reason why you cannot be included.”

Christine interjects. “The drinking? Are you drinking again?”

Raoul frowns. “No. Absolutely not. Why would you think that?”

“Your brother implied as much,” she replies.

“Well I am not – I have wanted to, I admit, but no. It has not been easy, but I would not do that to Meg – especially since the accident. Almost losing the baby. I am not a complete idiot. I know I have been a nuisance.”

“Christine?” Erik asks.

“Arrange your meeting,” she says, placing the napkin on her lap, she lifts the plate cover to examine her food. “If I hear one word that you are not being truthful about the alcohol, you will rue the day. Now please go so we may have our meal.”

Erik stifles a grin as he turns to Raoul. “I shall see you to the door.”

“Thank you,” Raoul says to Erik. Turning to Christine, he bows and with a grin says, “I swear no spirits – of any sort.” Then follows Erik to the door.

“Very funny,” she comments, but does reward him with a half smile.

As he returns to the table, Erik asks, “Why the change of heart?”

“Whether he is drinking or not, I do believe it is a good idea to understand better what is going on in Europe. Wars have a way of growing if something is not done to stop the cancer. If we can help – then we should.”

“Beautiful _and_ wise.” He bends over to kiss her on the cheek before taking his place at the table.

“If he is lying, I will leave Meg to deal with him. She seems to know how to deal with her adversaries.”

“My dear!”

“I have no doubt Meg has told him as much,” she says. “And even if she has not, none of us will ever forget that night and what our little dancer is capable of.”

“How cynical you have become,” he chuckles. “I am a little sad at your loss of idealism.”

“Not lost…however, it does not hurt to be realistic when dealing with some people. Raoul is living on borrowed time, Erik. We both know that. The only questions are when, how and who will do the honors.”

“You are probably right – he will always play the fool.” Lifting the covers from his own meal. He removes his mask, placing it to one side on the table.

“What is the Tarot card – the jovial young man, walking with his pack, his little dog on his heels as he walks off a cliff?”

“That is it,” Erik laughs. “You think that is Raoul?”

“I know so,” she says. “When he ran into the sea to retrieve my scarf, I thought it was so romantic. When I saw him again in Paris, he was the same – impetuous, daring, all those things I found attractive as a child. Now I can only see his behavior as foolish and dangerous – harmful to himself and those around him.”

“The same could be said of me – even more so,” Erik says. “You seemed to have had that effect on both of us. That we all survived is noteworthy.”

“Blame it on me, will you,” she pouts, waving her fork at him.

“Does the memory still disturb you – that night was, what can I say, horrible, even after all this time?”

“No. Time has scrubbed away the rough edges. I will not say I never think about the events in general, but it hardly seems real now.” Reaching across the table, she takes his hand. “After being with him for ten years, finding you again here was everything I could ever want for myself and for Gustave. I am willing to go along with this because it concerns you.”

“I must say I am relieved.”

Her face grows hard, eyelids narrow…her mouth a thin line. “Never doubt my love for you,” she says, “I mean that, Erik. You do not have to be nice to Raoul thinking I give one whit about him now. I see you doing that. I have no regrets and you have more than made up for what happened all those years ago.”

Without even being aware, he draws back at the energy of her look and words. Meeting her eyes, he nods and manages a smile. What a masterpiece this woman is. A feeling of ease surrounds his heart in a way he has not experienced before. 

Winking at him, she says, “Enough of him…them. Let us eat. Despite all the upset today, I am starving.”

“Eating for two now.” Erik jokes.

“Yes. Eating for two.” She takes a bite of her omelet. “Excellent. This little one has an appetite already. I best start letting out my dresses.”


	3. A Changing World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Christine find the sinking of the Lusitania affects their lives directly. Particularly as how Phillippe might be involved in the war going on in Europe and may be using Phantasma in his schemes. Christine relates a past incident with Phillippe to help explain her concerns about the Comte de Chagny.

“Papa! Maman!” Gustave shouts as he runs into the conservatory waving the morning newspaper. “The Lusitania was sunk.”

“What? What is the Lusitania?” Erik asks, taking the paper from Gustave’s hand. The boy points at the headline and a photograph dominating the entire front page.

Christine pulls herself up from her seat, already feeling the weight of the child when trying to sit or stand with any sort of ease. Holding her back, she stands behind Erik’s chair reading over his shoulder. “What happened?”

“It would appear the Germans have taken to sinking passenger ships on the high seas.” He holds up the paper for her to read.

_RMS Lusitania sunk on 7 May 1915 torpedoed by a German U-boat 11 miles off the southern coast of Ireland, killing 1,198 passengers and crew._

“Says here the Germans warned people not to sail on the ship. Arguing it was a war ship.”

“Is this what Raoul was talking about…with the Germans?” she asks.

“Seems this was an altercation with the British not the French. They blockaded Germany – so no food supplies were allowed through. Declared the North Sea a war zone and Germany reciprocated. Although America will be touched by it. It will definitely affect trade between America and England.”

Gustave points out a line in the article: _128 Americans on board…killed._

“You never had that meeting with Phillippe about giving assistance to France,” she says, returning to her seat at the table, adjusting the pillow that supports her back before settling down. “Do you think this is what he wanted to talk about?”

Erik stands up, tossing the paper on the table. “He never contacted me after we met that afternoon.”

Pulling the paper toward her, to scan the story herself, she says, “Whatever you said after I left must have terrified him.”

“I merely suggested he use the telephone in the future when wishing to arrange a meeting,” Erik replies. “Rude human being. I have heard nothing from him since.”

“Must have been something in your tone, then…or the look in your eyes…hmm?” She replies, quirking an eyebrow.

“Raoul says he cares about is making money. He travels back to Boston all the time,” Gustave says. “I never see him around.”

“Odd, Veronique never says anything about that – him being away,” Christine says. “In the old days she was quite open about their relationship – making jokes about him. Not so now.”

“Probably happy to have him gone.”

“She loved him though. Probably could have found another patron more attentive. I suppose she is used to living alone and only seeing him occasionally – still with her physical condition, one would think he would be more considerate.”

“Raoul said she has a nurse living with them – someone who came with them from Boston.” Gustave grins, pleased to provide more gossip.

“Raoul is a regular fount of information,” Erik smirks.

“I told you he talks all the time,” Gustave says. “I try to block a lot of it out – it is very hard to concentrate with someone talking all the time.”

“You should tell him,” Christine says. “If the chatter is interfering with your work – it must be affecting his work as well.”

“Actually, it does not. He gets more done when he is engaged in one of this stories,” Gustave says, taking a croissant from the covered basket on the table – adding some jam, he bites into the pastry.

“In any event, to answer your question – Nadir and I have been following the war news. So far America is staying out of it and we decided to follow suit. Neither of us has investments in Europe anymore. I doubt Phillippe cares about England.”

“What If he was making money using passenger ships to transport goods?” The boy mutters.

“What goods?” Erik frowns. “What do you know about this, Gustave?”

“Just that Raoul was worried about France and them getting arms to fight the Germans.”

“And?”

“And Phillippe only cared about getting support to Europe, not necessarily to the French.”

“You think he was using the Lusitania for transporting weapons?”

Gustave shrugs.

“Why did you not say anything sooner about this?”

“You were busy with the new show…and baby,” Gustave says. “Besides, I was only interested in building the Pirate attraction. Raoul was always rambling about something or another – complaining about how Philippe does not listen to him. I just wanted him to do his job for us.”

“Seems like no one listens to him,” Christine mutters. “The boy who cried wolf. I told you it would catch up with him. To be honest, it has been a relief not to have any of them hanging around.”

“Meg is not coming to rehearsals?”

“Oh, indeed she is – I was speaking of the men. A wanted pregnancy has actually made her an admirable addition to the company. She is quite large with child at the moment, more than me…due any moment…so not being forced to attract the attention of our male audience,” Christine laughs. “Her feet are bothering her quite a lot and she is considering getting a chair like Sorelli…Veronique joked about creating a dance number for the two of them in wheelchairs. Suggested it might appeal to some of the older folks who visit Phantasma.”

Erik laughs. “That could be arranged, I am sure. People are frightened about the war – most of us here came from those same countries in turmoil right now.”

Gustave wrinkles his nose. “That does not sound like an interesting show.”

“I did say older folks, son,” Christine says. “At the moment traveling around in a chair with wheels sounds like heaven to me.”

“Are you all right, my dear?” Erik frowns. “Would you like to move our bedroom downstairs? We could devise a chair for you?”

“No. No chairs – not yet anyway. I must have some sort of exercise.” Her focus returns to the newspaper. “This photograph is devastating, Erik. I cannot imagine the fear those people must have felt.”

“I recall the trip from England – we were not forced to travel in steerage – which was the worst – however, even with some modest accommodations, the journey was less than pleasant. The sea itself was frightening – looking out and seeing nothing but water – often rough with large waves beating against the boat. We had one storm when the entire boat load of us was certain we would capsize.”

“Our own journey was relatively calm – was it not, Gustave?”

“I had fun – I could run around the deck and not be worried about getting lost!” he says. “I made a lot of friends with the staff – they showed me all the best hiding places so Pere could not find me.”

“You hid from Raoul?”

“He never wanted to play – so I played with him in my own way.”

“Yet, now, you are working with him – and seemingly fine with it,” Erik says.

“I pay him little mind, Papa,” Gustave says. “He would be the same with anyone.”

“I am sorry, Gustave,” Christine reaches her hand across the table for his.

“When I found out he was not my real father, I was happy, Maman…Papa,” he says, squeezing her hand and smiling brighty at both his parents, first one then the other. “I feel sorry for him. He really wants this project to be successful.”

“When did you become so wise, son?” Erik laughs. “Your compassion is quite mature.”

“If Maman could put up with him, so can I,” he says, jumping back up to his feet, he kisses his mother on the cheek. “Nadir is picking me up for work. I need to get my jacket,” he says, taking his leave. “Come by the shop later, Papa – we have a lot to show you.”

“Count on it,” Erik calls after him. “What a young man we created.”

“He is his own person,” Christine cautions.

“Oh, I know that – left to me, who knows what he might become – my nursemaid, no doubt. I give all the credit for his magnificence to you.”

“And his curiosity and misbehavior to you,” she laughs. “When he is being admirable, it is easy to forget the times when he is an impossible rascal.”

“True, enough,” Erik agrees. “So, the war. Do you think I should have that meeting – use the telephone to call Phillippe as I suggested he do with me?”

“If only to find out if what Gustave said about Raoul is true,” she says. “I find it concerning that Phillippe might be some sort of criminal. I do not wish to think he is running guns to Europe, but if any of his activities reflects back on us – I should like to stop it now.”

“You are right, of course,” he says. “Is this something you would like to take part in?”

“Really?”

“Of course, who do I trust more than you?”

“Well, Nadir is generally the first person you think of…when it comes to business.”

“I was not aware you cared about business.”

“I am not in truth – I simply like to be thought of first.”

“There will never be a moment when you are not the first person I think of,” he says, pressing a kiss on the top of her head, massaging her shoulders. “When we were working on the song _Think of Me_ – I hoped you knew my thoughts would always be full of you. At the time, however, it never occurred to me things would change.”

“But they did – in ways I never considered. My Angel turned out to be a man.”

“An obsessive man – there are moments even now when I only want to hold onto to you and keep you all to myself in the Eyrie – singing our music, sharing our bodies to the point of exhaustion.”

“Making babies,” she chuckles, holding her belly. “It does seem that when two people are so passionate in their love, another being is created – forcing them into the outside world…to live. Living beings must breathe fresh air.”

“True enough – as I learned – confining oneself for protection from the outside world seldom brings happiness.”

“Raoul tried to keep me from the world,” Christine says almost to herself, “from my friends at the Garnier, from my singing. When he found out I was with child, he believed being a mother would stop me from wanting to go outside at all, much less perform.”

“But you were a wandering child – your entire life.”

“I suspect he believed I would wander back to the Garnier to find you.”

“I see.”

“And he was right,” she laughs lightly. “It simply took a while to find you again.”

“From now on, I promise to take you into consideration with every decision to be made at Phantasma or our family business matters – I truly did not know you would be interested.”

“There is more.” Taking a sip of tea, her hands shake as she returns the cup to the saucer. Noticing the tremors, she folds them in her lap. “Since we are discussing the past…and Phillippe.”

“What is wrong? What are you trying to say – there is more from that damnable time you still hold inside you?” Erik kneels beside her chair – taking the trembling hands in his, pressing his lips to her fingers. “Tell me – is it Gustave spending time with Raoul? I can fire him if that will make you feel better.”

She shakes her head. “No, it is not Raoul who troubles me. If anything, I am pleased Gustave is finding a sense of peace about him – that Raoul is somehow assuaging the bitterness Gustave has suffered all these years.”

“Phillippe, then?” Erik suggests. “I will admit he is a boor – not an ounce of wit about him. I know he disturbs you, but…well, felt you would say something.” He falls back on his heels as a rush of adrenalin and a roiling in his stomach tells him this is not about Phillippe’s personality.

“You know how Gustave repeats Raoul’s comments about Phillippe and money?”

“Yes – I can see how Raoul might have felt neglected – feels neglected even now.”

“Remember how you were so adamant about not allowing Raoul and Meg to leave Phantasma because you believed Phillippe wanted the de Chagny heir?”

“Yes.” Sensing her reticence in continuing her story, he says nothing more…just waits, trying to quell the fear lurking at the back of his mind. What could she possibly say?

“He never believed Gustave was Raoul’s child. I remember finding him in the nursery looking at the baby – perhaps examining his head – I was not certain, but when he saw me in the room, his smile was twisted. He said nothing – just left.”

“But then he returned?” Erik says gently.

_There was no moon, but that was of no matter. The heavy velvet draperies closed out the world - the room was black as pitch. The dark was comforting to her. Once the house was asleep she escaped into the night._

_Not expecting Raoul to join her then, or any other time for that matter. It had been a year or more since he entered her bedroom to exercise his husbandly rights. Early on, she would leave a small lamp lit to make his journey from his quarters to hers easier. In the early days of their marriage, he came to her almost every night, ending when her pregnancy made both of them too uncomfortable._

_After Gustave’s birth, he sensed something different in her. A knowing Gustave was not his child, she suspected, although the topic was never raised. Whatever the reason, his visits grew further and further apart until she no longer turned on the lamp._

_A soft shuffling noise roused her, but she assumed it was the maple tree outside her window and simply rearranged her pillow and bedclothes. As she drifted back to sleep, a whiff of tobacco burned her nostrils – she felt a presence in the bed with her. The covers disturbed, caused a rush of cold air to chill her, a shiver ran down her spine._

_The gentle touch was both disturbing and oddly welcome. Despite their difficulties, she always hoped they could reconcile for Gustave’s sake if nothing else. If intercourse would help bring them closer, although few words had been exchanged in weeks, then she would accept this strange visit._

_Despite her desire to make amends, something was not right. Perhaps it was the brandy he had imbibed. The sweet scent of alcohol and cigars – now part of his daily habits – mingled and the smell of him was making her ill. No. No. This was not an effort toward reconciliation. Marital rights be damned, he would not insult her in this way with his foul odor in her bed…_ her _bed – exerting himself on some whim, expecting her to submit._

_Pushng him away, she slid from the bed and turned on the crystal lamp sitting on the bedside table. “Oh, my God. How dare you?” she cried, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed to hold in front of her._

_Phillippe got up, straightening his night shirt and shrugged. “My brother is already a cuckold. I thought if you bore my child, it would be another bastard, but an authentic Chagny at least... ”_

_“Get out. Now. Leave my room.”_

_“Have no fear, your only appeal to me was as my brother’s wife and the bearer of an heir.”_

_“You pig.”_

_“You whore.”_

“My God, Christine.” Erik rises to his feet, cradling her close to him.

“The upshot was he acted as if the incident never happened. There were times when I thought it had all been a horrible nightmare.” Tears flow from beneath her tightly shut lids. “Even with his unbelievable arrogance, I think he realized the problem was within the family itself.”

It had been a very long time since Erik felt the flame of hatred burn so hot within in him. The look of concern and pleading in those eyes the color of a running brook was quite possibly the only thing keeping him from finding the comte and killing him right now. It would be so easy…never did anyone deserve it more. But her eyes and the sharp jolt of recollection of his own behavior. His beloved Christine – how misused she has been. “I am sorry, my dearest. I am so sorry.” Sitting down next to her, he holds her hands next to his heart.

“I know what you are thinking. This has nothing to do with you or what happened between us,” she says caressing his cheek. “I told you about this…incident so you could better understand Phillippe – not to wreak vengeance. He has no soul or conscience or whatever you want to call a man who would commit such an act. Too many years backstage with the poor rats who were unable to refuse him.”

“Does Raoul know?”

Christine shakes her head. “No. I never told him. To what end? I was a prisoner in the house – Phillippe made that very clear. He actually told me his hope when we came here – to America – was for our marriage to heal – perhaps, a child, by some miracle. Everything was about a child to carry on the family name – a true Chagny.”

“Still, he should be made to pay. Who knows what might have happened had you not stopped him?” 

“He may yet, but not by your hand,” she says, voice firm, her lips a straight line.

“Yours, then?” he says, unable to completely let go of his rage.

“We shall see – much as I should like to see him suffer – not necessarily die…” her words pointed “…at the moment, there are more urgent issues to address – there is another baby to consider – and who knows who else – no one really knows how he earns his money.”

Taking a deep breath, he releases it, forcing himself to calm down. Christine was right – any action against the comte would not end well for him and the family. “I suppose since Sorelli was interested in becoming a part of Phantasma, Phillippe believed it best to move here – at least part time to keep an eye on Meg – she and Raoul are not yet married and who knows what she might do. Darius is the legal father to the child she carries.”

“His business is based in Boston,” she says. “Do you think he wants to keep whatever it is he is doing private – too difficult for you and Nadir to investigate? I am concerned about is his using people with weaker wills to fulfill his needs.”

“I am sure the people transporting the guns, or whatever other contraband we suspect he is dealing with, understand what they are doing.”

“Why? He likes to use those who have nowhere else to turn,” she says. “What if he is soliciting our employees?”

“Maman? Papa?” Gustave peeks into the room from the doorway.

“Gustave!” Erik says, rising to his feet. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“I was not…”

“Of course you were,” Erik says cutting him short. “What did you hear?”

“About Sorelli working here…about transporting guns – using our employees.” Coming fully into the room, he asks, “May I sit?”

Christine nods. “You sit, too.” Patting Erik on the arm, she motions him with her hand.

“I came back because when I was waiting for Nadir, I remembered something La Sorelli said about Uncle Phillippe hiring some of the workers returned from the south who did not already have new jobs here. They were waiting for the park to open again for the season.”

“What else?” Erik asks.

“Nothing.”

“Who was she talking to?”

“Meg and Madame Giry,” he says. “They were rehearsing the Polovtsian Dance.”

“Best talk to Nadir, I think,” Christine says, “and Adele – whatever her relationship with Meg – she is her mother and Meg is very vulnerable now.”

“You wish to participate, I assume?”

“Of course,” she smiles. “Gustave, wait outside for Nadir – when he arrives, please ask him to come to the house.”

“Yes, Maman.”

As he gets up to leave, Erik says, “You may sit in as well. You already seem to know more than the rest of us and your eavesdropping skills might come in handy.”

Gustave grins. “Yes, Papa.”

“Now go.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“I wish we did not have to involve him,” Christine says.

“Nor do I, but he is in the best position to spy or whatever you want to call it.”

“He becomes more and more like you every day, I swear.”

“No moving between walls, though,” Erik laughs.

“Only because there are none,” she sighs. “We can joke, but I wish this was not so dangerous.”

“Nothing will happen to any of us,” Erik says, a strange smile on his face. “Now that we have some idea what Phillippe is about, we can find out more and both protect Meg and protect our interests as well.”

“You are enjoying this.”

“Perhaps a little.”

“I suspect the boredom you have been complaining about is a thing of the past?”

“Perhaps,” his laugh is infectious.

“This should not be fun or funny.”

“But, as life would have it, it is,” he says, twisting one of her curls around his fingers.

“Yes, it is,” she giggles, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Ah, Christine.”

“Hush, you terrible man.”

“I love when you are naughty,” he says. “Kiss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Of course. I love when I am naughty, too.”


	4. The Cost of Doing Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In two scenes we find Erik and Christine talking to Sorelli with Nadir and Gustave meeting with Raoul to find out what sort of business Phillippe is in. Some family fluff included to lighten the mood, particularly Erik's devotion to his little girl, Emilie, and how she is like him in not the best possible way. The little people twins Henry and Margaret also make an appearance.

Raoul raises the hammer and pounds in the final nail attaching a part of the boat’s frame to the larger wooden structure that will become the basis of the actual Pirate attraction. It was decided early on that the kind of boat necessary to hold the different scenarios he and Gustave had designed would be too large and unsuitable for the lot set aside for the ride. Standing back to admire his work, he smiles at Alfred who watches him with a sense of pride.

The older man was not quite sure the vicomte would be able to learn woodworking – and it took some time, but he was sincere and his work was turning out to be admirable. The incident with the Viking boat also had him suspect the younger man would not be an apt student – too flighty as his wife would call him. A dandy pretending to be ordinary folk.

“Ya dunna good job, vicomte,” Alfred tells him. “Couldna done it better meself.”

“It _is_ quite fine, is it not?” Raoul answers. “Not a real boat…and not what I hoped my job would be, but I am happy with it. The public will find this attraction most enchanting and exciting.”

“Have you finished the wall?” Gustave asks as he enters the work area, followed closely behind by Nadir who holds young Henry’s hand.

“Just now,” Raoul answers, indicating the piece of work just completed, the hammer still in his hand.

“You seem to have found your talent,” Nadir says.

Henry pulls away from the daroga and walks over to the completed wall of finished wood, rubbing his hand over the smooth curves. “I love it,” he says, smiling up at Raoul.

Bowing slightly to the boy, he says, “Thank you, young man.” Returning to his conversation with Nadir, he admits, “In another time, I might be insulted, but you are correct – nothing has given me as much joy or sense of fulfillment.” Tousling Henry’s blonde hair that never takes to a comb very well, he continues, “To be honest, it was a drawing of young Henry’s that inspired me – there would be no wall or ship or any of this without him and Gustave and their sketches.”

“Giving credit where credit is due and the skill to do that work well and get paid for it is quite a special feeling,” Nadir says. “Is that not so, Alfred?”

“Yes, sir. I remember the first small house I built for my sister – with all the tiny furniture to fill it to the brim,” he says. “Her daughter still plays with the thing, although it has been rebuilt a number of times since the time it was new.” Alfred smiles at the memory but returns his attention to the unannounced presence of Nadir Khan. “Was there something you needed?”

“Do you have those payroll records I requested?” Nadir asks him. “Adele is trying to make sense of who has returned to work with those she is still expecting. The names and numbers are not making any sense. Workers have signed in during one week and the next they are gone only to return a few weeks later. She cannot count on anyone to be where they are assigned to be.”

“I was gonna drop them off at the hotel,” Alfred says. “The books are in my office. I shall just go get them for you. Canna say I have had tha’ problem. My men tend to stay the year round.”

“Is there something special that brings you here – besides the paperwork for mother-in-law? Alfred seemed surprised at your presence.” Raoul asks, finally putting the hammer down to wipe his forehead of perspiration and his hands before tossing the rag on a work table. “I was just going to have a cup of tea – would you like some or a coffee?”

“I will get it,” Gustave says. “Uncle Nadir?”

“Tea for me – bring the sugar bowl.”

“Raoul?”

“Tea also – cream, too.”

“Come along, Henry,” Gustave says as he moves off on his errand.

“Quite astute of you,” Nadir smiles at the blonde young man, taking in the rolled up sleeves and the carpenter’s apron he wears to hold his tools. No one would mistake him for a member of French nobility now.

“We all know that the carpenters are a stable group and not likely to go missing – which appears to be happening in other areas of the park.”

“Not so much gone missing as leaving and returning without any rhyme or reason…or explanation.”

“My brother has been hiring them,” Raoul says. “Which is what you suspected. Am I correct?”

“It is,” Nadir says, leaving behind any idea about using subterfuge to elicit information from the vicomte who seems completely open to answering questions.

“Here is the tea,” Gustave says, putting the tray he carries down on the table created from a pair of sawhorses and a slab of wood.

“There are cookies, too,” Henry says, setting the plate on the makeshift table, picking one up before taking a seat on a stool, doing his best to become invisible.

“Did he ask you about the war in France yet?” Gustave asks, preparing his tea and grabbing a cookie for himself, seating himself next to Henry – giving him an understanding smile. “You are fine here.” He whispers.

“No,” Raoul answers. Turning to Nadir, he says, “You had questions about France?”

Nadir quirks an eyebrow at Gustave. “When interviewing someone from whom you wish information, you do not necessarily ask direct questions, young man.”

“You were interrogating me?” Raoul laughs.

“Not precisely, simply wishing you to talk about whatever was on your mind.”

“I am sorry, Uncle,” Gustave says, head down looking up from under his lashes.

Henry giggles, then covers his mouth when Gustave frowns at him.

“Your attempt at naivete does not deceive me – I know your father from many years ago and you will have to practice deceptive behavior for a much longer time before I am taken in by your attempts at being guileless.”

“You knew Erik?” Raoul asks.

“From when he was not much older than Gustave.”

“I had no idea.” He takes a sip of tea, before adding more cream to the already white liquid in his cup.

“Hmmm,” Nadir responds. “Another man who will never be a sheriff responsible for questioning prisoners.”

“He was a prisoner?” Raoul asks.

“Got you,” Nadir laughs, taking a bite of a sugar cube. “No, he was not a prisoner, at least not in the truest sense of the word.”

“Madame Giry told me he was a famous architect and built a palace for a shah.”

“That is so and was at the time we knew one another.”

“He was still a boy?”

“Erik was never a boy in the sense you suggest…but he was young, yes.”

“And he built a palace?”

“In a manner of speaking – he designed it and oversaw the building.”

“No wonder Gustave was drawn to architecture – I wondered where his interest came from…all his interests, for that matter,” Raoul mutters as an aside to himself more than Nadir. Regaining his focus, he says, “He has taught me so much. He is a better father to me than I was to him.”

Gustave turns to him, a look of surprise mixed with a touch of wonder on his face. “You think of me as a father – for teaching you now?”

“In a sense,” Raoul says. “You are the first person to ever take interest in my talents, such as they are. Is that not what fathers are supposed to do – encourage their progeny to achieve great things?”

“Um, I suppose,” Gustave mumbles.

“Am I like your father, too?’ Henry jumps in.

Raoul laughs, “A good friend, most definitely.”

Satisfied with the answer, Henry returns to his cookie.

“So, now that we have praised Gustave for his fatherly skills, acknowledged Henry’s exemplary friendship, discovered Erik’s accomplishment in designing a palace, learned I was a sheriff and, along with praising your newfound skills to build a carnival ride, can you now tell us what is going on with your brother?”

“What is going on with my brother? I do not understand.”

“Are you planning to return to France to fight?”

“Lord, no.” Raoul exclaims. “Why on earth would I return there at all – much less now? The country is overrun with Germans? They would kill me.” A frown wrinkles a brow, still smooth even as he reaches forty years. The polished skin dulling somewhat, coarsened from years of drinking and smoking in gambling establishments. Nevertheless, he still maintains a youthful presence – especially now in a comfortable environment.

“Why do you think Phillippe would suggest that possibility?”

“I have no idea – have you asked him?”

“We cannot locate him.”

The frown deepens. “He is not in Boston?” Raoul asks. “I know he does not like it here – but his wife prefers Phantasma to Boston. His business is in Boston.”

“Yet, he solicits employees from Phantasma to do what?”

“Move munitions – that is his business – a middleman between manufacturers and sellers. Fulfilling the sales orders, setting up deliveries.”

“Here in the United States?”

“Europe as well. The war is good business. He hires people to accompany the overseas shipments – there are not many people he can trust and seems desperate to me. Our brothers-in-law are afraid to travel anymore – they usually handled Europe. Locally he can control people better – using immigrants who would otherwise have difficulty finding work. He found the Phantasma employees to be perfect.”

“Did he ask you to go to England?”

Raoul nods. “He wanted a Chagny to negotiate a sale to the highest bidder and insisted I accompany the armaments. I refused. He became very upset – saying I was letting him down yet again. I told him I had a pregnant wife and a job. I told him I was interested in France getting weapons and ammunition, but was not enthusiastic about traveling there.”

“He took offence and left?”

Raoul nods.

“Was he planning a large shipment?”

“I believe so – that is why he was so upset – no one wanted to take the risk. The Germans were making noises about further attacks. The ship was to depart on May 1, so he was beginning to panic.”

“Have you spoken to him since?”

“No. I thought he returned to Boston – despite our reconciliation, we do not communicate all that much.”

Unable to contain herself, Margaret runs over to the two women sitting in the wings upstage right, leaving Christine and Erik to laugh at her excitement. Today would be her first rehearsal as one of the dancers in the Polovtsian Dance routine created by La Sorelli and Meg.

The little girl would only perform in the first two shows on weekends with the other children…and not featured in any way, but for the ten-year-old orphan, the role was something she dreamed of. Meg Giry was her idol and to be cast in a Phantasma show not connected to the _World of Little People_ was special.

Emilie is less enthused, “This is not the real show. Dancing with a lot of other kids is not really being part of the ensemble.” Continuing to hold onto her father’s hand, she sniffs at Margaret’s enthusiasm. “Why are they both in wheel chairs, anyway?”

“La Sorelli and Meg were dancers with the ballet at the Palais Garnier when your mother sang there,” Erik explains. “La Sorelli was one of the most famous ballerinas in Paris – so Margaret has an excellent eye for talent and whose disciplines she should copy.”

“Meg was a famous ballerina, too?”

“Yes,” Christine says. “She was like a butterfly when she danced.”

“What happened?”

“When we came to America, we worked in fairs – Meg, Madame Giry and myself – she had to learn to dance in a different way,” Erik replies.

“Hootchy Kootchy is what the stagehands call it.”

“Yes, but then she learned other dancing and performed wonderful shows for Phantasma.”

“But why are they in the wheelchairs?” she repeats.

“Their feet, and, with La Sorelli her hips, became very damaged from dancing ballet,” Christine says. “You know how you asked me about my ugly feet?”

“Yes.”

“Well, theirs are worse because all they did was dance on their toes – just like Madame Giry. She carries her stick to help her walk.”

“Why does she not use a wheel chair?”

“Because she is too proud,” a deep feminine voice says from behind them. “You are full of questions, little Miss. I have one for you: do you want to be a dancer, Emilie Saint-Rien?”

Emilie’s eyes grow wide as the woman she has come to know as a sort of grandmother purses her lips in a moue, awaiting her response. “Yes, Madame.”

“Then practice.” The stern visage cracks a bit at the child’s response. “Young Margaret is already doing her warm-ups and you are standing here with your Maman and Papa making fun of her. Who do you think will do better today?”

Emilie’s lower lip quivers. “Margaret?”

“If you start now – you will both be brilliant – doing your very best. Now join the others. We shall do a run through in…” checking her slim gold pocket watch “…half an hour. Now scoot.”

Erik and Christine bend down to kiss her before she runs off to join the group of children that has grown in number since their arrival.

“Thank you,” Christine says. “I believe she is actually afraid of failing, so will not try. Gustave has natural talent and succeeds at everything he attempts. The twins have drifted to activities they love and enjoy studying even if they are not quite as gifted as Gustave. Emilie seems a bit lost – she is still quite young, but nothing holds her attention beyond her storybooks.”

“She is a bit spoiled by her Papa, too, I would say,” Adele smirks at Erik. “You were never so tolerant of others when not doing their best, as I recall. Living in America has softened you.”

“Fatherhood has softened me,” Erik responds. “Perhaps I have learned that perfection is seldom achieved…present company excepted – and is not always a reasonable goal.”

“Still Emilie must learn discipline,” Christine says. “You are entirely too lax with her when she abandons project after project – this little performance is just what she needs – being around other children learning to dance, following instructions...and completing something.”

“You mean like an opera that took me twenty years to finish? You are correct, of course, my dear,” Erik says. “I just do not want her to be hurt.”

“She is a beautiful child, my friend, but not a pleasant one,” Adele says. “Any pain she may feel will come from that – you should know about that.”

Erik’s eyes blaze, fists clenched. “Excuse me?

“Oh do not get into such a huff, I am simply reporting what I observe – she is not friendly with the other children. She acts as though being the daughter of Mr. Y and Christine Daae gives her some sort of privilege.”

“And this isolates her,” he states. “She is indeed Mr. Y’s daughter in that.” The amber eyes soften as he seeks out the daughter he loves so deeply. He recalls when Christine told him it was not his face causing many of his problems, but a distortion in his soul. Emilie was beautiful by anyone’s standards, but her beauty made her vain, which is its own form of ugliness – even he was able to see that. As he himself did, she hides in her books and the stories she creates in her mind – living in a fantasy word of her own creation.

“Madame is right, Erik,” Christine says. “Emilie is becoming cruel, especially to Margaret who only wants to please everyone.”

“How so?”

“I heard her tell Margaret she would never be a famous star like Meg.”

“Because?”

“You know why.”

“I see – her own sister. I had no idea.”

“It is nothing that cannot be resolved – but you must take the lead – with simple discipline when she disrespects anyone…especially her own family.”

“How did this happen?”

“You became the father of a physically beautiful child, who knows exactly how to charm you, and forgot about her character.” Christine laughs. “If Gustave is your son with his natural gifts, Emilie is your child with her temperament and desire for solitude and disdain for most people.”

“Am I still that bad?”

“No, you are not, but being sociable to others is still not your strong suit, by any means,” Christine says, keeping her tone light.

“Dancing classes will work wonders,” Adele says.

“What if she is not a good dancer?”

“That is not the goal at the age of these children – this does not have to be her life’s work,” Adele says.

“Why did I assume she would be like Gustave?” Erik muses. “He can be a nuisance, but incredibly polite and likable from all appearances.”

“Your wife had him for the first ten years of his life,” Adele snorts.

“All right. All right.” Holding up his hands for them to stop. “I shall be more conscious of her behavior with others – I want her to be happy – I had no idea.”

“Oh, look,” he says. “She and Margaret are holding hands and laughing.”

“There you see, it will be fine,” Adeles says. “I must join the little ones – they are playing Ring Around the Rosie instead of practicing their plies.”

“I had not expected this to be a referendum on my parenting when we came here today,” he groans.

“You were ready to fight a battle with Phillippe – instead Adele appeared,” Christine reminds him. “m,Why did you think he would be here?”

“La Sorelli was going to be here.”

“And…”

“When you rehearse or perform I am generally present,” Erik says.

Christine shakes her head. “Have my comments about Phillippe meant nothing?”

“He does not care.”

“Precisely. Even Gustave knows that,” she says. “Frankly, I am happy he is not here. I am not interested in you arguing with him – considering your level of rage right now.”

“The man deserves to be punished.”

“Not by you – there would be no escape for you, Erik, if anything happens to him.”

“Who would know?”

“I would.”

A quirk of his eyebrow and a chuckle advise her he understands. He pats the pocket of his jacket.

“You have your garrote I take it?” she asks.

“Always – for my personal protection and yours,” he says. “Phantasma attracts many people and many kinds of people. We are well known and not necessarily well liked.”

“You have been attacked?”

“More than once…hoodlums. Squelch is a great body guard and he has trained a number of our freaks to be guards. Most people will see them as performers, which takes nothing away from their fun. Nadir came up with that idea. He was concerned with Adele’s difficulties in walking in general, but moving back and forth between the hotel and the theater particularly bothered him. So Squelch was put in charge of security.”

Christine notices Sorelli waving – Meg joining in, motioning them to come closer. “Christine you must get a chair of your own and we can do a performance.”

“I suggested as much to Gustave,” Christine laughs, taking Erik’s hand to walk toward them. “He was not impressed with the idea of three ladies in wheel chairs performing.”

“The child has no taste,” Erik says. “I, personally, would love to see such a performance.”

“ _You_ would actually attend one of the carnival shows?” Meg asks.

Erik takes her measure – the lifted lip and sarcastic tone sting. Once again he wonders why they did not stay in Manhattan…or move to Boston? If his daughter needs to develop more social skills, then Meg, thirty years her senior, could take a few lessons herself. Yet, Adele has the gall to accuse him of being a permissive parent.

Ignoring her tone, he continues, “Having seen the three of you on stage together years ago, it would evoke a fond memory, I am sure.”

“You are such a liar, Mr. Y or is it O.G or Phantom?” LaSorelli says.

“It is Erik and I am not a liar. None of you needs the chairs at all times.”

“I can no longer dance,” Sorelli continues. “Would that I could.”

“Still, three beautiful women on stage would attract attention,” he replies.

“Oh, right, husband – two of us large with child,” Christine laughs. “The men who attend most of our showcases are here to forget their pregnant wives at home.”

“Yet, some of them bring their wives, or might if we add to the show…much like we are doing with the children,” Erik says. “Do you sing at all, Veronique?”

“Only when I bathe,” she chuckles. “And, then, only when I am assured there is no one to hear me.”

“You miss the stage, though,” Meg says. “I see it when you work with the children.”

“Your mother was able to make the transition and so shall I,” the former prima ballerina says. “I am simply grateful and happy to be here in a theater at all. The last years in France, then in Boston were so dry and dull…”

“If Phillippe knew Raoul was here, why did he not come to New York,” Christine asks.

“Yes. Why? We were here long before Raoul and I left for Manhattan,” Meg says. “Phillippe was always aware of where Raoul was, even if his brother did not.”

Sorelli shrugs. “I know – you have no idea, though, the ridicule Phillippe was exposed to. He was very angry over the book and Raoul’s part in it.”

“Speaking of Phillippe,” Erik interrupts, shifting his eyes to Christine.

Her lips purse and nostrils flare slightly as she shakes her head.

“Where is he?” His tone light, a pleasant look on the unmasked part of his face. “We have not seen him in – how long has it been, Christine?”

A scowl is her answer.

“He is attending to business in Boston,” Sorelli replies easily, unaware of or ignoring the minor spat taking place between Erik and Christine. “He is not very comfortable when not in an environment he cannot control…at least to some extent.”

“I have tried to telephone him a number of times – he wished to discuss Raoul’s interest in the war.” Glancing over to Meg, she greets him with a furrowed brow similar to the one on Christine’s face.

“Whatever would he want to discuss with you he could not speak with Raoul about directly?” She snaps.

“He claimed Raoul possibly wanted to travel to Europe to join the fight with France,” Christine says, cautioning Erik with a sharp look to be silent.

“That is ridiculous,” Meg blurts out, following the comment with a harsh laugh. “Most certainly he talks about it all the time – but he is more interested in the Pirate ship he is building. If he talks about the war, it is simply because he likes to chatter.”

“I never knew him to be so talkative as you and Gustave describe,” Christine comments.

“Gustave said something?”

“Just that he talks a lot when he is working.”

“Then you understand.”

“Phillippe said Raoul would often talk himself through things – when he was studying, particularly with mathematics,” Sorelli chimes in.

“I never noticed.”

“I am certain there are a number of things you did not notice about him,” Meg says.

“Which only supports your relationship, does it not?” Christine retorts.

Erik clears his throat. “So, we are agreed, Raoul has no intention of going to Europe?

Sorelli shakes her head. “Phillippe has been hiring people to safeguard the supplies he has been sending to England.”

“So he is selling arms?”

“Yes – well, delivering shipments to be more accurate,” she replies. “It was never a secret to anyone who cared to ask. He and the brothers-in-law have a very successful business. They were doing the transport initially, but each decided they preferred not going back and forth to England because of the danger – so were hiring honorable men to work for them.”

“Sorelli!” Adele calls out. “Could you come here to assist me – I cannot explain the choreography as well as you do.”

“Excuse me, my dancers need me” she says, turning her chair to roll toward the twenty or so girls gathered around Adele. Over her shoulder, she says to Erik, “I think I should like to try singing – who knows, perhaps with enough practice I might be able to carry the semblance of a tune.”

Erik frowns as she leaves them.

“What is it?” Christine asks, taking his arm.

“Why would he summon us to talk about Raoul, when Raoul had no intention of traveling,” Erik replies.

“When did this happen?” Meg asks.

“A week – maybe ten days ago.”

“We admit, we thought he was doing something illegal,” Christine says. “He seemed very distraught – out of sorts.”

“If there was a large consignment, he would want someone he could trust,” Erik mulls. “If Raoul left and did not return for some reason – it could be chalked up to his obsession with the war. It sounds to me like whoever went was not expected to return. The goal being to just gett the shipment to England.”

“Raoul would tell me if he was going anywhere…trust me…after the boat incident, he checks in frequently – what with the baby coming and all,” Meg says. “Phillippe obviously does not know his brother very well.”

“So it would seem,” Erik says. “Since he is still absent, we shall not have the opportunity to educate him today.”

“Good,” Christine says. “I should like to rehearse my song – here in the theater. I think it is time to see how my Mozart staccato sounds in an auditorium.”

“I am anxious to hear the aria, myself – I recall Carlotta toying with the idea of singing it,” Megs says. “This is much like the old days at the Garnier – I find myself becoming more excited by the day.”

“I am glad,” Christine says. “Just the theater…ballet and song – classical operatic song.”

“No Phantom?” Erik says.

“Only as my accompanist, if he would agree,” Christine says, taking his arm. “The audiences would be thrilled.”

“They would, Erik,” Meg says. “Mr. Y performing. The house will be packed. I cannot recall a performance when someone was not asking about you.”

“I do not think so,” he demurs.

“Just one show, Erik,” Christine says, tugging on his sleeve. “It would be such fun and a great opening.”

“For the moment, I will be your rehearsal pianist, as always. As a performer…we shall see.”

“Papa!” Gustave shouts, running down the aisle, Nadir on his heels. Raoul carries Henry following close behind.

“Do not shout. What?” Erik calls back in a subdued shout of his own. “Did you find out where Phillippe might be?”

“On the Lusitania,” his son breathes out, holding his stomach as he gasps for air.

“What?”

Panting heavily himself as he climbs the short stairway to the stage, Nadir repeats what Gustave said. “On the Lusitania – or most likely the Lusitania.”

“Phillippe wanted me to accompany a shipment to England that was leaving on May 1,” Raoul says, setting Henry down to run up the stairs to his papa arms before moving to Meg’s side.

“The Lusitania left New York on May 1 – I doubt another vessel capable of carrying a large shipment of arms left that date,” Nadir says.

“Dear Lord,” Christine says looking up at Erik. “Do you suppose…”

With the exception of Meg, they all turn their eyes to LaSorelli, laughing at the efforts of the children practicing their dance.

“What is going on?” Meg asks, searching their faces.

“It seems Phillippe set sail for England on a cruise ship called the Lusitania with his munitions order,” Erik answers. “That ship was sunk this morning in the North Atlantic off the coast of Ireland.”

**Author's Note:**

> *The melody of the song Stranger in Paradise was derived from The Polovtsian Dances (from the Broadway play and film Kismet which takes place in Baghdad). Thanks to Sierra Boggess and Julian Ovenden’s video, it is one of the songs going through my head all week. YouTube has some great videos of the original works of Borodin. The show used a number of his works for the songs in the film. The musical was created in 1953, based on a play written in 1911 – hmmm, Erik under a pseudonym – Edward Knoblock.


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